


Fireplace

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels and Demons, Dates, Eating, Fluff, Food, Friendship, Gen, Love, Platonic Love, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 04:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: Crowley learns that eating isn’t all bad. Or all good. Could be Aziraphale/Crowley if you squint.





	Fireplace

Aziraphale wouldn’t shut up about food. That was the trouble. 

Crowley blamed the invention of kitchens. And personal hygiene around food. All of that contributed to what Aziraphale felt encompassed good food. Tastes, textures, smells, the feeling of emptiness, the feeling of want, of temptation that had nothing to do with him. The act of eating itself. Chewing, swallowing, feeling the food fill you up, feeling warm afterwards. 

“It’s like being near a fire, but it’s in your belly!” Aziraphale exclaimed happily after eating a Christmas mince pie in Victorian England. “It’s a marvelous feeling, Crowley, I don’t know why you don’t eat!”

Crowley made a face. “It’s because I don’t need to. I’m a demon.” Well, it wasn’t that, per se. Some demons liked to eat, particularly demons of gluttony. Hastur liked to eat, only he tended to eat tongues and bones and skin. And Crowley just did not find humans appetizing. He leveled his eyes at Aziraphale from behind his darkened spectacles. “Why do you eat?”

Aziraphale straightened his back and adjusted his bow tie, his friendly smile becoming an all-knowing smirk. Crowley watched him with a mixture of fondness and irritation. Here we go again, the “holier than thou” routine. “Because I care about blending in with the locals. As an angel, it is my duty to-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley waved dismissively. “Blah blah blah. You know what I mean.” He took a long drink from the mulled wine sitting in front of him. 

Aziraphale, unphased, simply leaned back in his chair, content as a fat cat feasting on mice. “The same reason you like to drink, I suspect,” he replied airily. “Because you enjoy it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley growled, getting up from the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a murderer to tempt.”

~

If you had asked Crowley at all why he’d hitched his wagon to an angel, well...he really couldn’t say. Well, he’d have SOMETHING to say, but it’d be more along the lines of, “None of your business” coupled with an impressive amount of shape shifting, enough to ensure he was left alone for centuries. 

It probably started, he reasoned, because he was lazy. Now, he didn’t consider himself a demon of sloth, but all demons know how to tempt. And tempting a human to just sit back and do nothing is one of the easiest bits of mischief you can do. The sins shape the demon, and all that. 

But maybe it started because...well. Because he really had been an angel on the good path, until he fell under the influence of the wrong crowd. Lucifer and all his pontificating, the charismatic bastard. The other angels never liked someone who asked questions, and Crowley was good at asking questions. So good, in fact, that he walked right into the mouth of hell for his curiosity. 

That, and he liked Aziraphale. Ever since they first met, when he slithered past the angel on guard at the Tree of Knowledge, back when he was nothing but a snake in the grass. Literally. It had been his first time on Earth, and when an angel--not a demon--met him almost as if to say “well done,” well that. That was novel. And then Aziraphale had gone and shielded him from the new, bright sun with his wings while Crowley’s reptilian eyes adjusted to the light of the world. It was a gesture other demons wouldn’t even do for each other. 

Crowley bathed in it like he bathed in Aziraphale’s presence. And from day one, he knew the angel had felt it, too. Their fates were tied from then on. 

It was, Crowley thought, quite brilliant. 

~

Of course, the longer Crowley inhabited the human world alongside Aziraphale, the more he began to observe the angel’s habits. 

Aziraphale ate nearly as much as a human, though obviously with more time in between meals. It could be months before Aziraphale sat down to eat, but he always looked forward to it. And each meal seemed charmingly like his first, even if it was a restaurant he frequented. 

Crowley eyed the interesting food sitting before Aziraphale feeling rather like a snake about to strike its prey. The anticipation of a meal was something he could taste in the air on his tongue. 

Like demons tend to do, Crowley fed off of sins. That’s why he got a kick out of tempting people. But hanging around Aziraphale and, if he was honest, looking after him, was turning him more...kind, than he’d like to admit. Crowley shuddered, but Aziraphale was too absorbed in his tea to notice. 

As such, he hadn’t tempted anyone in a while. He was here with the angel instead.

They were guests of a Chinese family around the Han dynasty, and fragrant jasmine tea complimented the dumplings, pork, and lamb that sat before them. 

Watching Aziraphale lick his lips in anticipation rather made Crowley do the same. Aziraphale was getting adorably chubby while he remained rail thin, looking like Famine standing next to Plenty. 

Hanging out with Aziraphale was beginning to make him feel...oh, what was that silly word the angel used? “Peckish,” that was it. Tempted. 

And Crowley didn’t like being the one tempted. 

The young woman of the house brought out a fragrant, sweet-smelling honey-melon concoction sitting steeped in wheat beer to compliment their meal. Aziraphale thanked her in her native tongue and she bowed to them both, smiling, before wandering off somewhere. Crowley gathered himself, sitting up and back before he could convince himself that it was perfectly acceptable to stick his face in the pudding like a dog. He cleared his throat noisily, fiddling with the wire rim of his glasses. 

“See, Crowley?” Aziraphale grinned, his arms spreading wide across the table. “Doesn’t this all look so good? I’ll tell you--this is the BEST food I’ve ever had!”

“So you’ve said,” Crowley said, voice tight as he tried not to smell the delectable smells around him. “A million times, about a million different foods.”

“Well,” Aziraphale puffed up again. Crowley had to swallow a snort-he looked kind of like an angry kitten when he did that. “I mean it this time. This is truly the best food the universe has to offer!” As if to prove this, he took up a dumpling and popped it into his mouth, chewing with a groan of delight. “Oh,” he purred. “You’ve gotta try this, Crowley. Not even demons could resist this.”

Crowley felt a pang of emptiness take hold of the pit of his stomach and twist it like a corkscrew. He took a gulp of what beer to hide his pained gasp. What in the name of hell was THAT?! Could it be called “peckish” when...it actually hurt? 

Worse yet, Crowley didn’t want to eat sin. He wanted to eat that dumpling, the one on Aziraphale’s chopsticks that he was holding so carefully while chattering on about something. The demon swallowed, feeling his stomach for the first time, finding it horribly empty. 

“Oh for the love of--give me that!” Crowley snatched the chopsticks from Aziraphale and shoved the dumpling into his mouth before he could think about it. 

“Hey!” The angel protested. “That’s terribly rude of you, you know! I know you’re a demon, but have some decency!”

Crowley now had the dumpling in his mouth, broth dribbling down his chin. He...really didn’t know what to do about this, so he just...swallowed. It went down easy enough, easier than sin, soft and silky and...

And it tasted like chicken. 

Crowley licked his lips thoughtfully, unaware he was smiling just a bit. That had been...lovely. There wasn’t a fire in his belly, though, and he was left wondering, again, what the point of it all was. After all, he was a demon, able to eat sin and misery and fire if need be. He could even eat unbaptized infants, though after seeing the unhinged jaw that required, he wasn’t eager to try it. 

“You like it.” Aziraphale looked smug. 

“Pointless,” Crowley replied, wiping the remainder of the broth from his chin. “Messy, too.”

The angel’s eyes gleamed. “That’s half the fun!”

“If you say so,” the demon said gruffly. 

He watched the angel eat and wondered why, even after all that nonsense, he still didn’t feel satisfied. 

~

Crowley was enjoying the French Revolution immensely. It was his most favorite thing: humans destroying each other. He needn’t lift a finger. Best of all, he knew Aziraphale, who liked to play dress up, was far away from here, in his bookshop, safe and sound and...

...and he’d know that tuft of white hair anywhere. 

“Unhand me, you brutes! Where in heaven’s name are you taking me? This is unlawful arrest! I demand--!”

“Oh for the love of all that is evil,” Crowley grumbled, diving into the crowd. “Scuze me! Pardon me! Coming through!”

Aziraphale owed him SUCH a favor once he got out. 

~

“I don’t understand why you would risk your corporeal body for a crepe!” Crowley was ranting, arms waving about wildly as if he was lecturing the world at large. “Especially when you have no miracles left! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“I really think you should try them, then.” Aziraphale answered in the tone of a know-it-all child. “They’re really quite delectable. Light and fluffy, with powered sugar and syrup, sweet and filled with tangy fruit...why, it’s heaven on Earth!”

Crowley had been listening with outward disdain and inner interest. Much as he hated to admit it, in the 5,000 years since China, he’d only become more curious about food, and the peckish feeling had turned into unrelenting desire that plagued him even while he was at rest. 

He’d seen humans desperate for food, usually at the hands of Famine, so he knew he wasn’t suffering all that badly. (Mostly because not eating couldn’t kill him.) But he was peckish enough to warrant another word. Hungry, maybe. And eating misery just wouldn’t cut it, as he’d found out by discretely lapping at the blood of the aristocrats as their heads were efficiently chopped off. 

Crowley couldn’t take it. He turned on his heel and looked over Aziraphale. “STOP TALKING ABOUT FOOD!” He roared. It was loud enough that several people turned to look. The angel smiled and waved. 

“Don’t mind us, just two old friends bickering!” He said innocently. His smile, at least, if not his words, calmed the people around them. He looked back to Crowley, whose eyes were burning like the pits of hell, and gently reached out a hand to squeeze his shoulder. 

Gotta hand it to angels. If it’s one thing they are, it’s brave. 

And Crowley? He calmed down. Why? Because that’s what he did when with Aziraphale. The angel was tranquility in a world of uncertainty. It was, probably, like finding his very own Eden. Now that was worth a chuckle. 

“You know,” Aziraphale said gently, squeezing Crowley’s arm, “I think you’d be less grumpy if you had something to eat.” He walked off, humming, his hands in his waistcoat pockets. “Come on,” he sing-songed. 

Crowley let out a deep sigh and followed Aziraphale like a lost puppy. 

~

“Oh,” Behind his dark glasses, Crowley’s eyelids fluttered. “Oh, where have you been all my life, you tasty little morsel, you!” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Aziraphale scolded halfheartedly. “It’s very rude. And disgusting to boot!”

Crowley obnoxiously chewed with his mouth as wide as he could get it without being unsettling to the humans around him just to annoy him. The angel simply tutted, attention returning to his food. 

“See,” he went on, “this is TOTALLY worth losing a body for.”

Crowley had to agree. The crepes were exactly as Aziraphale described, and the more he ate, chewing and swallowing, letting the flavors explode all over his tongue like fireworks, the more he felt like a fire was burning inside. 

Thank the Dark Lord for Aziraphale, who had ordered one of every crepe on the menu. Which wasn’t much, admittedly, it being Revolution-torn France and all that, but it was still a fair amount. Crowley was aware he was decimating the food more rapidly than Aziraphale, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The fire in the pit of his belly was getting warmer the more he stoked it, until it was burning, spreading, expanding...

Crowley belched under his breath. The fire in his stomach was going strong, but it was a calm fire, contained, sitting comfortably in a fireplace. It was making him feel sleepy, which as a demon who didn’t need to sleep, was a novel experience. He’d cleared several plates and was busy licking berry juice off his fingers, content. He muffled a belch again and pressed his hand against his belly, finding it taut and raised, straining just a bit against his tight clothes. 

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?” Crowley looked up, feeling a bit dazed in the best way possible. 

Aziraphale, who had only managed two plates it seemed, was smiling kindly. “Come back to my bookshop? I’ve got a new wine I’d like you to try.” 

Crowley imagined stoking the flames in his belly with good wine and a purr rumbled in his throat. Well, as much of a purr as a demon could make, anyway. “I’d like that very much,” he replied, smiling warmly at his friend. “Lead the way.”

~

It was the day after the end of the world. Or, rather, the day that began the new world. Maybe that was why it had been Crowley who suggested lunch. 

Crowley was fuzzy on the events that had occurred yesterday, but he did feel dreadfully drained. And he remembered the anguish he felt when he thought someone had killed Aziraphale, the adrenaline that fueled his actions...even if he couldn’t remember what they were. 

Full. He needed to be full. He needed to feel a fire burning hot and bright in his belly, because he’d gone too long without. And even if you’re a demon, you can certainly become peckish. 

As it turned out, a “spot of lunch” at the Ritz was more of a three-course meal. Not that Crowley was complaining. Nor Aziraphale. They ate and drank, filling their bellies, and talked about what they remembered about yesterday and their speculations for the new world. Crowley, for one, was glad Aziraphale remembered being incorporeal for a time. Otherwise, he’d have thought himself mad for all eternity. 

Well. More mad than the idea of a demon whose best friend was an angel, that is. 

“I say, Crowley,” Aziraphale turned towards his friend, leaning back in his chair comfortably, hands crossed over his stomach, “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat this much since France!”

Crowley belched a little louder than necessary, slumping in his seat, one long arm thrown over the back of his chair, legs sprawled out so that his knee was touching the angel’s. “That’s ‘cause I haven’t,” he replied, swirling the champagne in his glass. “I don’t hang around humans nearly as much as you do, and a coffee was usually enough when I was.” 

“What changed?” Aziraphale asked, his smile and tone lazy and comfortable. 

Crowley grinned. “Just you. Being good works up an appetite.” 

“So does saving the world,” the angel pointed out. 

Crowley made a dismissive noise. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, I binge watched all of Good Omens until nearly five in the morning and I intend to rewatch it very soon. It’s so good. 
> 
> Anyway, I needed a fic where Crowley eats, partially because I love David Tennant and skinny men who are very in need of a good meal, partially because I think he uses up a hell of a lot (hahaha) of energy and needs to replenish it somehow. Plus, I’d think hanging around someone who eats might just make you hungry... ;)


End file.
